


We're Not Friends

by 29PiecesOfMe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Scenes, Angels, Castiel Whump, Castiel in Charge, Crazy Castiel, Crowley Whump, Crowley and Feelings, Demons, Drinking & Talking, Evil Lucifer, Frenemies, Gen, Hellhounds, King of Hell Crowley, Leviathans, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, Men of Letters Bunker, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/29PiecesOfMe/pseuds/29PiecesOfMe
Summary: One was an angel, fallen from grace. The other a demon, sometimes the King of Hell and sometimes just a victim of his own ambition. The rules of the universe declared them enemies, but neither had ever been that great at rules, anyway. Not that they were friends, mind you, definitely not.





	1. Crowley Gets No Thanks, Honestly

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back, as promised with some Cas and Crowley fic. This is set up to be a series of six oneshots. The chapters are individual scenes set chronologically across several seasons. They're mostly AU, but all are connected by the evolution of Cas and Crowley's interactions with each other in the actual episodes.
> 
> Huge thanks to Aini Nufire for beta reading and being indispensable as ever! I don't own the guys.
> 
> We begin in season 5... this first scene is an AU version after 5x18, after Cas carved that angel banishing sigil into his chest. Let's just say, in this AU, he didn't spend his time recovering at a hospital ;)
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Everything hurt, almost the worst pain Castiel had ever experienced, but not quite. His chest was on fire from the sigil he'd carved into it; his grace felt like it had been flayed to shreds. The angel couldn't even feel the tattered remnants, though perhaps that was only because the agony prevented him from feeling anything else at all.

It was dark, too dark, and it took Castiel a moment to realize it was because his vessel's eyes were closed. He couldn't open them; it hurt too much.

With a weak groan, the angel tried to shift, but moving was impossible. His head swam, ringing with battered splinters of grace, echoing with memory and pain.

_"Hold still, Castiel. We will remind you who your true commanders are."_

_"No, please…"_

_"You don't serve them. You serve US. Put him in the chair, bind his hands."_

_"No! Naomi, Zachariah, don't do this-"_

"Hold still, the bleeding is never going to stop if you keep moving, you sodding angel."

"No," Castiel murmured, a break in his voice. "No…"

A sigh, heavy with impatience. When Zachariah got impatient, it generally ended with Castiel in even greater torment. The angel bit back a sob, pride refusing to let it through, but he was so frightened, a fear that only his brothers could incur.

The echoes magnified, as did the pain, when something brushed against his chest that still bore the marks of his sacrifice. Perhaps it had been enough. Perhaps Dean and Sam had managed to rescue Adam. Perhaps they could still take on Lucifer, and perhaps they could win. Castiel had given his all, and now he was dying.

The darkness grew darker. Castiel knew nothing more.

SPN SPN SPN

The second time he returned to consciousness, the pain was just as strong and the weakness was alarmingly worse, or perhaps he was just more aware of it. Castiel shuddered, still unwilling to open his eyes. If he was awake, he must not be dead, he decided. He shifted, trying to move his hands, trying to sit up, but the angel could do neither.

"Awake again, are you? About bloody time. Snap out of it, Castiel."

The voice was familiar, but the angel couldn't place it. Oh Heaven, he hurt so badly. What were his brothers doing to him? More awareness was returning, enough to sense that he was flat on his back on a hard surface, arms at his sides. Castiel tried to pull his hands up again, but they were trapped. The heart in his vessel's body beat faster with fear.

"Please… not again…" he whispered, broken by the remembered knowledge that Naomi would succeed in turning him against humanity. The process would be excruciating—not physically, though that would certainly be a factor, but emotionally. "Naomi…"

"Naomi? Do I sound like a skirt to you?" A derisive snort. "No wonder you're just a foot soldier."

The rough, accented voice grated at the angel. That wasn't one of his brothers. That was-

It hit him so suddenly that Castiel gasped, his eyelids flying open at last. Just as he'd suspected: the demon Crowley stood over him, arms crossed and watching him with shrewd eyes. The angel tried to leap to his feet, but couldn't move.

"What-" he asked weakly, head twisting this way and that, trying to see what he was bound with. There were no chains, no ropes, not even an arcane symbol painted onto the stone slab he seemed to be lying on. "What have you done?"

"What I've done is save your life, idiot," Crowley retorted. "I've been keeping close tabs on those pets of yours. Followed them to Van Nuys, and followed your contrails after you pulled that stunt. I picked you up before any of the angels could. You're welcome."

The words only barely registered. Castiel's head was still spinning too much to fully focus, but one fact was becoming more and more clear: there was a demon standing over him, and the angel didn't seem capable of fighting him off… or standing up.

"Why can't I move?"

"Oh, that." Crowley's tone carried a smile, which made the angel shudder. "My personal protection, for one thing. But also, you kept trying to curl up. It was making it too difficult to get a good look at that fascinating symbol you carved."

Castiel's gaze snapped back to the demon in dismay. "Get a good...?"

"Of course." With no concern for the angel trapped on the rock slab, Crowley leaned over and peeled the trench coat and dress shirt aside so he could scrutinize the sigil. The demon pulled out a scrap of paper from an inner pocket and held it up to show a sketch of the banishing sigil. "Quite effective, that little symbol of yours. I really must look into it."

"No!" Castiel growled, shifting desperately in an attempt to cover the sigil, even though he knew it was too late. It didn't matter, as he still seemed to be bound by an invisible force, helpless to hide it away again.

"I assume," the demon mused, leaning in to examine the marks carved into Castiel's chest closer, "it must need to be done in blood. Something so powerful, it would only make sense. And since surely you would have used paint if you could, rather than these dramatics."

"Stop." Castiel tried to shift again, but Crowley ignored this to push the coat and shirt aside some more, looking around as though in search of more symbols. "Let me up!"

"Say the magic word," Crowley retorted as he tucked the sketch away, obviously satisfied that there was only the one sigil.

The angel frowned. "Why, is this some kind of spell?" There were many words that humans would consider "magic", though most were actually just some form of either Latin or Enochian. Which one would release him from this mysterious power?

Crowley heaved an exasperated sounding sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling of what Castiel now realized was some sort of cave. "I mean 'please', you twat."

Castiel stiffened, face tightening with fury. "Please?" he echoed with a snarl. "How dare you? I am an angel of the Lord. I do not _plead_ with demons."

"Just as well. I wouldn't have let you free anyway. I'm evil, not stupid. Even without your power, I still have a tiger by the tail. I just wanted to see if that famous pride is really stronger than your sense of self-preservation. You'll have to re-evaluate that someday, mate. As for letting you up, get yourself up."

"What are you doing to me?" Castiel demanded, struggling. The movement only brought another blinding flash of pain, his tattered grace rippling with agony so that the angel had to fall still with a quiet moan. It took several moments of deep, shaky breathing before he could even bear to open his eyes again.

The demon was staring at him, quite unimpressed. "What I'm doing," he retorted, "is equivalent to holding you down with _one hand_. I presume you can see the implication there."

There were many implications. To which was the foul creature referring? None of it was good… the fact that he was merely using his demonic power to hold Castiel in place rankled. No demon should be strong enough to defeat an angel.

"Yes," Crowley said now with a smirk playing across his amused features. "I can see you've at least worked out that you're completely at my mercy, which I have to admit is a matter of personal satisfaction for me. Don't worry. I wouldn't save you just to kill you. That's not the implication I mean."

"You don't have the power to kill me," Castiel bit out. At least he had dropped his blade in Van Nuys… had Crowley taken it away from him, the angel would probably be dead already. And if the demons learned how to kill his brothers and sisters because of him, Castiel would never forgive himself.

The demon only snorted. "You can't be serious. In this condition, I expect just about anything would kill you. No, the implication I mean is, you can't even get away from _me_ , how are you going to be any use against Lucifer? You're no good to me except that you can help fight him, and you're the only angel stupid enough to ally yourselves with the Winchesters. So until you're strong enough to get away, you're not going anywhere. You see now? Get. Yourself. Up."

"You-" Helpless fury washed over Castiel as he tried to lunge at the impertinent creature. His world exploded in pain at the sudden move and the angel cried out, blinded by the sheer agony that he shouldn't have been able to feel. Everything began to spin again, and finally it went dark.

SPN SPN SPN

When he came to the third time, the cave had disappeared and Castiel was seated in an old armchair in some dusty room. His shirt and coat still hung from him, giving him a view of his own scarred chest that had only minimally healed. It took the angel's eyes a moment to focus on Crowley, seated in a chair across from him and watching with the same shrewd, impatient gaze.

"Where… where are we?" Castiel murmured, trying to look around. His arms seemed fastened to the chair, still held by nothing but Crowley's power. He tried to push through it and free himself, but it was impossible.

"Had to move. Demons closing in and whatnot," Crowley replied, not moving from his own chair or tearing his eyes away.

The scrutiny made Castiel uncomfortable, as did the infuriating fact that he couldn't stop this demon from simply taking him somewhere else, anywhere else. "Let me go."

"Get yourself up," Crowley repeated.

"Why are you doing this? You say you can kill me, yet you haven't. Why?"

"Not out of the goodness of my heart, I can assure you," the demon said with a snort. "I honestly couldn't care less about you. Make no mistake, angel. We're not friends."

Trying to draw himself up, Castiel shook his head with icy rage at the very idea. "No, we're not. You're evil. A monster. And I'm-"

"Completely helpless still, even though it's been days. Why aren't you healing faster? I thought you angels were supposed to be invincible, to hear Lilith talk."

Yes, Castiel would have liked to believe this as well, but he was all too aware of the actual limitations of angels. Gritting his teeth, he ground out, "If you're so concerned, why haven't you helped me heal?"

"Maybe because I'm a _demon_!" Crowley shouted, leaning forward and gesturing towards himself. "I don't do touchy-healy! The best I could do was stop the bleeding. I can't do any more than that unless you make a deal-"

" _Never_."

Sitting back again and regaining his composure, Crowley tugged his suit jacket back in place. "Fine. We wait for you to heal on your own, then, and hope it doesn't take too long. Hard as it may be to believe, babysitting a broken angel is not my idea of fun. I would dump you off at the nearest human hospital, but I've already had to relocate you four times now, what with the angels on your trail and the demons on mine. So of course there's utterly no point taking you back to the Winchesters either, or this whole bloody plan is over before it begins. I might not have anything better to do at the moment, but they certainly do."

If Crowley was expecting thanks, he was going to be disappointed, Castiel thought with a low burn of anger. Not all of it was directed at the demon, though. The warrior angel had expected his stunt in Van Nuys to be his own death, but since he was still somehow alive, he needed to be helping Dean and Sam, not sitting there, so uselessly weak.

Castiel pulled as hard as he could, but the movement only wore him out and caused another flare of pain that made him hiss and close his eyes.

"Is that the best you've got?" Crowley demanded. "I'm hardly using any force at all!"

"You're not helping," Castiel spat back, eyes opening with an angry, exhausted flare of blue. He tried tapping into his grace, but it was still in pieces, floating around inside the vessel like mere specks of dust. Useless.

Human.

"I actually am," Crowley retorted. "Fine. Sit there and rest instead. I mean, it's only the end of the world- wait…" The demon froze, head tipped slightly to the side as he frowned. After a moment, he sighed. "Bollocks. It's taking them less time to catch up."

"What?"

Crowley got to his feet and strode forward, grabbing the struggling angel by his upper arm. "And, we're moving."

There was an uncomfortable whirl, so unlike the seamless, graceful flight through the ether that Castiel was used to. The Void was empty and uncomfortable, and he didn't like not being in control of the direction they took. The trip was brief, thankfully, and ended with Castiel flat on his back once again on what seemed to be an old ornate dining room table. The landing jolted his body, though, causing the angel to try to curl up in pain. His fingers twitched, hand starting to lift off the table.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Crowley's voice piped up with far too much cheer, right before Castiel's arms were pinned once again. "Good, because this is without a doubt the worst holiday I've ever been on."

The angel took a few ragged breaths, eyes traveling the musty room they'd ended in, until his gaze came to rest on Crowley.

"Let. Me. Up."

But the demon only shrugged and turned away. "Get yourself up, darling. Until you can, you're useless."

Oh, how that burned, the truth of it carving its way into Castiel as deftly as the box cutter had. Time ticked on, and he had no idea how long he was kept under Crowley's watchful eye. They moved locations several times, and though Castiel was furious to be dragged along in tow of a demon, he privately had to acknowledge that being found by his kin would have been a death sentence.

Not that Crowley was doing him a favor. Even the demon professed that this was for his own benefit and nothing more, equally miffed that he needed the angel as a hammer against Lucifer. Crowley was impatient and insensitive, berating the angel for his weakness while cajoling him in the next breath to try just a little harder, because Lucifer might barbecue the planet at any moment.

Days passed, but Castiel felt no stronger. The scars faded too slowly, and even once they had disappeared, his grace still felt tattered and torn. The first time he managed to lift his shoulders off the ground that he was currently trapped on, Crowley almost smiled.

"Better," the demon approved, before shoving the angel flat on his back again with a mere wave of his hand. "But not good enough."

After another day had passed with Castiel no stronger than before, Crowley shook his head and gave the downed angel a nudge with his foot. "You know, it occurs to me that perhaps I haven't been giving you the proper motivation," Crowley pointed out. "I mean, are you even trying? Maybe I should give you… a reason, if you will."

The angel almost laughed. After everything he'd suffered at Zachariah's hands, what was this pathetic demon going to do? His skepticism must have showed, because Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Please, show some imagination," he grumbled. "If you think I meant threaten to torture you, it only proves you're an idiot. That would make it take _longer_ for you to heal. I'm tired of waiting. Maybe I'll pop in on your pets, precious Sammy and Dean."

"Stay away from them," Castiel seethed, jerking at the invisible power holding him down. His limbs were trapped, though. "I'm warning you-"

"You'll do what? Glare me into submission? No, no, if you want to stop me, then get yourself up. Get up, Castiel."

The first touch of desperation began to cloud the angel's mind. Crowley couldn't hurt him, not really… but he could hurt Sam and Dean. Clenching his jaw, the warrior pulled harder, sweat beading on his brow at the effort.

"You must not care about them that much," Crowley mocked him, arms crossed as he smirked. "I could have been there and back already with Dean's guts on a stick, and you're just going to lie there. Get up."

"I can't!"

"Then your boys are as good as dead anyway. I'm done with this. I tried. Goodbye, Castiel-"

"Crowley!"

Tipping his head back against the pebbly ground, Castiel strained against the demon's power. His grace was still in pieces, but they glowed with the electric white-blue of his spirit. The angel released a wordless shout, back starting to arch off the floor now.

"Finally… here we go."

The angel's eyes shot open, bursting with light. Crowley was standing over him, two arms stretched out in obvious effort to hold him down now. The demon took a step back.

"You… will not… harm… Sam and Dean!"

The pain was becoming unbearable, but Castiel only doubled his efforts. Without his grace being whole, he couldn't fly, probably couldn't even smite Crowley, but he was still an angel, damn it, and he was still stronger than a demon. One arm lifted, hand clenching into a fist. He felt a wave of power trying to force it back down, but Castiel gritted his teeth and pushed harder. Though the faded wounds on his chest pulled, the skin didn't break.

With a shout, Castiel broke free at last, eyes still burning with celestial fury. The angel rolled to his feet, shuddering and weak, but driving single-mindedly towards the demon.

Crowley was prudently several feet away now, looking satisfied and smug.

"You're welcome," the demon said in a rush, backing up again with a sarcastic bow. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Castiel lunged, but Crowley was gone.

He nearly collapsed again, going down to one knee to take several bolstering breaths. Castiel hurt all over, but he was free. It occurred to him somewhere in the back of his mind that in a way, Crowley _had_ done him a favor in keeping him away from the other angels and demons until he was stronger. Not that Castiel felt like he could take on Lucifer at the moment, but he at least didn't feel like he was going to die.

Putting Crowley out of his mind, Castiel heaved himself back up and looked around. The demon had taken him to the middle of nowhere. When he tentatively tried to stretch out his wings, they refused to support his weight. He'd have to go on foot, then.

But someday, when all of this was over… Castiel was going to pay that demon back for this.


	2. What Part of "Revenge" is He Missing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our next scene takes us to season 7 in an AU after Crowley has learned that Cas is still alive. In this version, he didn't meet up with him at the Winchesters' place though. And he hasn't heard yet that our favorite angel is a few strings short of a full harp...

Crowley was not a happy demon.

For hell's sake, it was one angel, without even the protection of the intrepid Moose and Squirrel. How hard could it be to find one bloody angel?

Crowley stormed through the underbrush, swatting flies in a fit of ill temper as he went. If only Castiel had _actually_ died when the Leviathan ripped him apart. How he could _possibly_ still be alive was a mystery to the demon, but on the other hand, this was an unexpected windfall: now he could exact some real revenge on the turncoat.

Assuming, of course, he could ever find the sodding angel.

"Couldn't have picked somewhere dry to hide out," the demon griped under his breath. "No, no, let's fly off to the ruddy Everglades." Hell was hot; _this_ was just miserable. Not to mention the alligators, which posed no threat to a demon but which annoyed him to no end. Even better, the swamp he was sloshing through was crawling with briars. Crowley was going to need a new suit, but if he killed the angel then it was worth every moment.

Still grumbling to himself, the demon rounded a bend in the marsh stream and came to a stumbling halt.

"Crowley?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed; there he was at last, sprawled on a solid piece of land amidst the swampy water. "Castiel," the demon spat out, hefting the angel blade clenched in his hand and brandishing it with vitriolic rage.

The angel propped himself up on his elbows, the tail end of his trench coat soaked with swamp water. His hair was mussed and for reasons unknown, he was all decked out in white. Most infuriating was the expression on his face: the daft, perplexed look that was vaguely surprised but not at all afraid. Crowley wanted the angel trembling in fear, damn it!

Striding forward with the intent of impaling Castiel right through his treacherous heart before he could fly off again, Crowley instead stepped straight off the firm patch of ground and tripped face-first into the marsh with a splash.

Oh, how he hated the angel.

"You scared it," Castiel complained as Crowley heaved himself out of the water with droplets streaming from his furiously gesticulating arms. "It flew off."

"What?!"

"I was watching a heron," the angel went on, rolling himself up to a seated position and sighing. "And you scared it away."

"… _What_?!"

"Uh-oh." Castiel froze, head cocked to the side slightly. "Leviathan. They've been following me." And then he was gone with a low woosh and the quietest flapping of wings. Crowley stared at where his quarry had just been, almost feeling the steam coming from his ears. What the _hell_ had that been?

The demon was so distracted by Castiel's bizarre behavior that his final words didn't sink in until it was too late. Crowley felt the presence behind him and froze.

"Bollocks," he murmured. Slowly, dreading what he knew he was about to see, Crowley rotated on the spot and looked up at the two monsters looming over him with wide, grotesque grins. Leviathan. It didn't help that they'd copied the Winchesters, making them appear even more horrifying to Crowley than they already would have.

"Well, well," the Sam look-alike said with a smirk, reaching out to fuss with Crowley's collar. The demon didn't dare twitch. "Look who it is."

"You're that demon," Dean's clone said. He licked his lips. "The one who thought he could make a deal with us."

"Just on my way out, actually," Crowley informed them with a false sense of ease. "Sorry to rush off, gentlemen, but if you'll excuse me-"

"What's the rush?" Levi-Sam asked as he gripped Crowley's collar and hauled the demon closer. Crowley had to fight not to wince or flinch away. "Why don't you stay and chat?"

Levi-Dean leaned closer and sniffed, still looking too much like he wanted to take a bite for Crowley's liking. "Yeah," the monster growled. "We should definitely chat. The angel was just here, wasn't he? Where did he go?"

Trying to jerk away—unsuccessfully—Crowley glared at the two and gestured with the useless blade. "How should I know?" he demanded. "If you've a bone to pick with him, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait in line."

"Is that so?" Levi-Dean asked. His grin widened to a frightening degree. "See, Dick wants the angel alive."

"He knows things," Levi-Sam added before Crowley could form the obvious follow-up question. The monster twisted his hands in the demon's collar, pressing inexorably down until Crowley couldn't stay on his feet any longer. He splashed to his knees in the marsh with a wince and a quickened heartbeat.

"Things about Heaven," Levi-Dean continued. "Things about how to get in. We didn't get a good enough look at his brain when we were in him before to get all the juicy details, but when Dick's finished with him, we'll know everything we need and more."

"Good luck with that," Crowley bit out, partly because he genuinely liked the idea of the angel being tortured and partly because these morons were never going to get a thing out of Castiel. "He doesn't have much of a head start. If you hurry, you can probably still catch him." _Which means there's no time to kill ME._

The Leviathan didn't release him or move to hurry off, though. Instead, Levi-Dean licked his lips again, staring at the demon like he was a tantalizing morsel instead of the king of Hell. Crowley tried to pull away, _really_ not caring for this, but Levi-Sam's grip was unyielding. He gulped, not looking up at the Leviathan that held him. If only he could disappear, but the Leviathan were stronger than him; the one holding him would just tow along and Crowley would be equally screwed.

"Don't worry," Levi-Sam cooed, grin stretching wide. "We'll get that angel. His turn is coming, but first… I don't know about you," he went on, addressing the other monster, "but this chase is making me hungry."

"We'll split him," Levi-Dean agreed. He reached toward Crowley, who closed his eyes in dismay.

But the bite never came. There was a sound of frantic flapping, so fast that Crowley didn't even have time to open his eyes when he registered the noise, before something grabbed him by the back of the collar and jerked. The Leviathan's grip was torn away as Crowley's stomach turned a backflip at the horrible sensation of flying and the nightmarish howls of the enraged monsters left behind.

By the time the demon felt firm ground beneath his feet again, he'd recollected his wits enough to stumble away as he whirled around to face his rescuer.

_DAMN it!_

"What the bloody hell was that?" he shouted, glaring at—of _course_ —Castiel. The angel stared at him with the same dim-witted incomprehension as before, somehow baffled that Crowley would demand answers.

Raising the blade, the demon snapped, "What's your game _now_?"

"What do you mean?' Castiel asked, head cocked to the side. "Those Leviathan were going to eat you. They aren't very nice."

Understatement. "And why the hell would you care?!"

The angel stared at the demon, then finally shrugged. The depth of his indifference was starting to make Crowley uncomfortable. "I don't know," Castiel answered. "They're the enemy. You know what they say, the enemy of my enemy is-"

"Don't you _dare_ ," Crowley hissed, cutting the angel off as the furious scowl on his face deepened. "Of all the nerve! Don't you even _think_ that word. We are _not_ friends!"

This time, Castiel looked like he was trying to mull over a particularly complicated riddle, nearly provoking Crowley into acts of extreme violence. The angel shook his head, still regarding Crowley with a puzzled look, but he agreed,

"No. We're… we're not."

But the upward inflection sounded more like a question than a statement. Crowley teleported directly in front of the angel, point of his blade pressing up into Castiel's throat as he snarled,

"You really need me to spell this out for you? You're the bloody angel who betrayed me, I'm the demon you royally boned. We're not _friends_. I'm here to _kill_ you, you feathery numpty!"

"Wouldn't you rather just play a game?"

The plaintive question sounded so hopeful that Crowley nearly screamed. Instead, he glared up at the angel shrewdly. Something, he decided, was off about all of this. What the hell was going on with Castiel, anyway? Not that he'd _actually_ expected the angel to show any fear; he'd seen enough of Castiel under pressure to know that his victim was going to be stoic to the end, no matter how much Crowley wanted to make him beg for mercy. But this wasn't bravery.

"You're off your rocker," he finally realized. "Is that it?" Crowley sighed when Castiel only offered him an uncertain look in return. "You're bonkers!" he snapped in clarification. "Mad as a hatter! You've lost your marbles, you're daft, lunatic, insane! You, Castiel, are crazy."

"That's not a very nice thing to say," Castiel replied, heaving a sigh and shrugging his shoulders with total apathy to the blade still held at his throat. "But I suppose it's true. Not that I've seen Lucifer in a while, which is a blessing, of course. I don't _feel_ crazy. Mostly, I just watch the bees. I had some honey. I would have given it to you as a token of apology for betraying you even though you're a demon. But I don't have it anymore because I gave it to the Winchesters instead, as a token of apology for betraying _them_. You understand that _that_ betrayal upset me much more than what I did to you. Not that I'm not still sorry-"

"Stop… talking…" Crowley gritted out. He frowned, mulling over his next move. On the one hand, dragging Castiel back to Hell now and torturing him for the rest of time wasn't going to be a bit of fun if the angel was already a wet ball of fur. On the other hand, Crowley wasn't entirely opposed to accepting it as the best he was going to get, and moving forward with his plan.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to play a game?" the angel asked in earnestness. "I don't have any of them with me, but we could go back to the ward. They have so many games. I don't fight anymore, by the way."

"Yes, I can see that." A thought occurred to Crowley suddenly and he lowered the blade, asking, "Wait. You've seen the Winchesters? They've seen _you_?"

"Well, yes. It seemed like an attempt to make amends was required, given the severity of-"

"And you're telling me they saw the blithering idiot you've turned into, yet you're out here on your own anyway? I'd have thought Sam and Dean would be keeping you under wraps for safe-keeping."

There was a longer silence this time as Castiel's expression drooped. His eyes shifted away from the demon and he shrugged, wringing his hands like a demented old maid. "I… I suppose it's better this way," he said. "Sam and Dean have so many important things to do. They shouldn't have to worry about me. Honestly I'm more likely to be in the way, than to be of any help. Besides, I, um… I broke Sam's wall. You know, the one that kept his memories of Hell-"

"So I remember." Crowley continued to regard Castiel, not feeling one bit sorry for him, of course, but still surprised he wasn't with the two morons. "So when you said you didn't see Lucifer anymore…"

"Oh, I took Sam's Hell scars," Castiel explained, brightening as though this were in any way a good thing. "It was terrifying. Obviously it must have just been hallucination, because the Morningstar is still locked in the Cage, but that faded after a while. Sam is whole now and that's all that matters. At least I was able to do that much. I think Dean's still angry with me, though."

Wonders never ceased. Crowley would have never been caught dead taking on that kind of burden, not for any reward. And Castiel's reward had been… to be tossed aside as a liability?

Again, the demon couldn't care less what happened to his enemy. The traitor deserved this. But he was still surprised, that was all. He'd have thought Dean Winchester would be a _little_ more grateful for Sam being saved, and the return of his best friend.

But that was none of his business.

"In truth," Castiel confided now, "they might have been more open to me staying, but it seemed unnecessary to draw the Leviathan closer to them. I seem to be a beacon. On that note, I'm glad we got to catch up, but I should probably be moving on."

Crowley glared. "This isn't a reunion, it's an ultimatum," he snapped. The blade returned to the unconcerned angel's throat. "Say the magic word, and I _might_ be willing to snuff you out quickly and mercifully."

"I remember that one!" Castiel exclaimed, looking proud of himself instead of frightened. "It's please, right? That word is magic?"

This was not satisfying in the slightest. Crowley had never been so disappointed at a revenge in all his life. Time to end this ridiculous encounter, and good riddance to the crazy angel.

"Forget it," he griped. "I'm just going to kill you."

Castiel sighed, expression mirroring Crowley's own disappointment. Before the demon could move to strike, though, his quarry had shifted away from him in a flurry of wings.

"No, you're not," the angel disagreed. He nodded to the angel blade. "And I don't think this is yours." He held out his own hand; the blade was wrenched out of Crowley's grip. With a flick of his wrist, Castiel sent the weapon disappearing into the ether.

 _Bollocks._ Crowley felt the first flicker of uncertainty, now that he was weaponless and Castiel could easily smite him down. This was definitely not worth his time, and vacating the scene was now priority number one. Still, trying to save face, the demon pointed an accusing finger at Castiel and growled,

"Fine. I'm letting you go _this_ time, just until you retrieve your marbles. Next time I see you… you're dead. Comprende?"

Another flurry of wings brought Castiel directly in front of the demon, and a ripple of fear paralyzed Crowley as the angel raised a hand. Instead of smiting him, though, Castiel merely patted Crowley on top of the head in what was probably the most enraging moment of this whole stupid day.

"Okay, Crowley," Castiel said with a smile, so patronizing and so unintentionally so that the demon almost wished he _had_ been smote, rather than suffer this. But then Cas suddenly added, "I _am_ sorry, you know. Even though you're a demon. And rude. I know we're not friends, but we did work together for a time. Truth be told, sometimes I'm lonely, too, so if you ever want-"

"I'm not _lonely_!" Crowley exploded, not about to listen to this. He was so done. "And I hope the Leviathan catch you. I assure you, they won't be nearly as merciful as me." As though he'd ever stood a chance at actually killing the angel, which he was realizing more and more had never been in the cards for him anyway.

Without another word, Crowley disappeared into the Void, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the comforting power of his Throne, where he could forget all about the stupid angel and no one ever accused him of needing friends.

Which he most certainly did not.


	3. Admit it Crowley, Cas Won This Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks! I was on vacation this past week, but the good news is that you'll get two updates back to back days! :D   
> Chapter 3 is an AU (or just a missing scene?) from season 9, while Cas is still in command of his angel army.

Crowley released a slow exhale as he ducked through the arched doorway of the old, stone church. By all rights, he mused, he really shouldn't be able to even pass through the doors, to stand on holy ground. Not as a demon. He liked to believe that he could withstand the old magic trying to throw him back out again only by his own power. If he was honest with himself, though, it was probably because there was still human blood in his veins, diluting his demonic nature enough to allow him in. Even still, Crowley wouldn't be able to stay for long.

Just long enough to figure out his next move, though. Dipping a ginger finger into the pool of blood at his abdomen where one of Abaddon's lackeys had gotten in a lucky shot with _something_ , Crowley winced and sank down onto one of the long, low pews. Bollocks.

Hiding from her was becoming harder, but with no hope of winning a straight up fight against the Knight of Hell, Crowley didn't see many other options. But a church was one of the last places anyone would expect him to go, so maybe he could hide here long enough to come up with his next hiding spot. Crowley was hardly opposed to a prudent retreat.

He needed to determine where she was, Crowley decided. Shrugging out of his suit coat, grunting with pain when it pulled at his wound, the demon draped the garment over the back of the pew and slid his cell phone from an inner pocket. If there was _anyone_ who knew what omens to look for, it was an actual demon. He'd just have to do a quick internet search-

"Bollocks," Crowley complained when his phone informed him that he didn't get a signal in here. "So I can get Wi-Fi in _Hell_ , but not a church. Lovely. I really must make a note for the suggestion box."

The demon sighed, but there was nothing else for it. Heaving himself up again, Crowley limped back towards the door of the sanctuary, holding his phone aloft in search of _some_ kind of signal. So focused was he on the task, Crowley didn't immediately notice the group of people approaching the door until they'd spotted him as well.

Crowley froze.

Three pairs of eyes were staring at him, as taken aback as he was. But they weren't black eyes.

The demon couldn't actually see the celestial forms inhabiting the human bodies, but he could sense the righteous, divine power radiating from their beings.

"Well, well," one of the angels said, her eyes flaring with lightning blue. "What do we have here?"

"Demon, judging by that hideous face," another said as the three spread almost automatically into an attack position. Two already had blades in hand, and Crowley's was in his suit coat… back inside.

 _Definitely_ time for a prudent retreat.

But no sooner had he even thought about disappearing into the Void (and hoping his weakened state was even able to), a heavy hand fell on Crowley's shoulder. The demon tensed, realizing too late that there weren't three angels, but four. A face leaned in close from behind him, a silver blade snaking over his shoulder to brush his throat.

"Definitely demon, you can smell its stink," a low voice growled.

"I'm wounded," Crowley shot back, before remembering that he actually _was_. In combination with the angels' proximity and power, teleportation was out of the question. Time for emergency measures. This was his favorite vessel, but it wasn't worth getting killed over. Opening his mouth, the demon bailed out in a surge of pungent red smoke.

Well… he managed to bail out about half-way, anyways. If that. To his horror and dismay, the angels rushed in, raising their hands to halt his smoky form, slowly shoving it back into his body.

"Ruth, the bag," the angel behind him snapped. "Get this filth down!"

"Mmph!" With a powerful hand over his mouth, keeping his demonic form inside the vessel, Crowley was not liking his odds. He struggled, a muffled shout filling the air as one of the angels delivered a harsh blow to the bleeding wound in his abdomen. Outnumbered, he couldn't stay on his feet and soon the gaggle of angels had him down on the ground on his back.

The female, Ruth, had stepped back to unsling a bag from her shoulder. From his vantage, Crowley couldn't see what she was digging for, but he recognized the sound of tape being torn. Glaring at her fiercely, Crowley tried again to squirm away, again without success. The angel knelt over him, a silver strip of duct tape in hand. It looked like she had scribbled something onto it in marker. Crowley would bet dollars to doughnuts it was an Encochian spell to keep him in his meatsuit.

"I'm going to-" he managed to spit out as the hand released him long enough for Ruth to slap the duct tape down across his mouth.

"You're going to what?" one of the others snickered. "Bind its hands."

Another sound of tape being ripped off a roll. The angels yanked his wrists together in spite of his embarrassingly useless struggles, allowing Ruth to wrap the sticky strip around them, securing him tightly. More sigils were scratched on in black ink, leaving Crowley as helpless as though he were caught in a Devil's trap.

Stuck now, Crowley could only scowl in fury up at his captors as they stood and gazed down at him with triumphant eyes. Given his druthers, Crowley would have preferred death by demon than angel. Not because it would hurt any less, but because it wasn't nearly as demeaning as letting an _angel_ win points.

"Wait a minute," the angel who'd grabbed him from behind snapped, squinting and leaning down slightly. "I recognize this one. It's Crowley, isn't it?"

Oh, that didn't sound good, if the angel's tone of voice was any indication. Crowley tried to shake his head, but one of the others let out a harsh bark of laughter.

"You're right. It _is_. I remember, from back when Castiel was fighting Raphael."

This was _not_ the headache that Crowley needed at the moment. It was looking less and less like he was going to find a way out of this—especially when one of the angels raised a blade and pointed it at the demon.

"That's right," he sneered. "After what happened, Castiel must hate this one more than any other. Let's bring him a present. Load the demon up and head back, and we'll let Castiel dispose of this one himself. Metatron isn't here, anyway, and it might boost our brothers and sisters' morale to see the demon struck down."

Shooting the angels a glare as they reached down to haul him up, Crowley nonetheless felt the smallest sliver of relief that they hadn't simply killed him. Perhaps he could escape whilst in transit, or maybe Cas would slip up somehow.

Two of the angels pulled him up between them, feet barely even touching the ground as he was humiliatingly toted along like a rag doll. The demon found no opportunity to break free, and those blades of theirs could prove quite nasty if he tried and failed. An old church van sat on the grass not far away, and Crowley found himself shoved inside and forced down on the floor boards between two rows. A bag was pulled over his head, and everything went dark.

SPN SPN SPN

Crowley had never thought he would be sorry that the angels had all lost their wings. After a day and a half stuck in the same cramped position at their feet in the van, though, the demon was sorely wishing they could have just flown him back to Cas and spared him the torture of sheer boredom listening to the four gush about their brave and wonderful leader.

Not that he necessarily disagreed with their assessment of Castiel; it was just that he happened to know these were probably the same angels who'd been ready to execute Cas themselves following the heavenly drama.

Now that his position as King of Hell had been usurped and half of his own constituents had turned on him, Crowley had a new appreciation for how despicable such wavering loyalties were. These four who were singing Cas's praise—for thirty-six hours straight—would turn on him again as soon as the winds changed. Sickening.

Of course, that was Cas's problem, not Crowley's. He was mostly focusing on his plan of escape, and slowly healing from his wound with only a minimal amount of power.

"Here we are," Ruth finally said, just when Crowley thought he could take no more of their prattle. "Castiel will be pleased."

The creak of the door opening preceded the first change in his position in a day and a half. With the hood over his head blocking his vision completely, they had succeeded in leaving him too disoriented to discern where this top secret base was. Crowley tried to jerk away when the angels grabbed his arms to haul him out of the van, but it was for his own pride more than an actual hope of escape. As soon as the cold metal of an angel blade pressed into his throat, the demon held still.

"Move," one of them snarled, leaving him no choice anyway as he was once again dragged along.

Crowley felt the cool inside air when they entered whatever building they were in, hearing the background chatter of an impressive degree. Castiel had come a long way, judging by the sound; he must have had a small army gathered by now. The noise soon fell silent, though, as the angels seemed to have caught sight of him.

"Castiel!" one of the ones holding him called. "We've brought you a gift!"

The hood was ripped away, leaving Crowley to squint against the blazing indoor lighting. He could just make out the form of the trench-coated angel a few feet away.

"What-" Castiel's gruff voice started, before cutting off with an air of surprise. "Crowley?"

"Caught him hiding in a church. We thought you might like the pleasure of executing this demon yourself," Ruth announced with obvious pride. "Given your history…"

Crowley studied Castiel as his eyes adjusted to the light, watching intently for a sign of the angel's intentions for him. Though the demon hated to admit it, any window of opportunity he'd had at escape was probably past; he hadn't expected the tree-topper to have quite so many angels at his beck and call. He wouldn't get three steps towards the door before they cut him down.

Castiel, for his part, looked somewhere between confused and disappointed, probably having been expecting the scribe they were all so intent on catching. Even as Crowley dared to hope the angel would deem him unworthy of attention at the moment and leave him in an escapable cell somewhere, though, the angel's blade slid down into his hand.

Bollocks.

Forcing himself to hold still as Castiel approached, Crowley nevertheless felt a tingle of uncertainty as the angel's expression cleared, becoming unreadable. Cas's blade rose to hover in front of Crowley's face. The demon nearly went cross-eyed, trying to keep it in his wary gaze.

The moment stretched on, Castiel considering him with an intense look that left Crowley wanting to squirm. Ever stubborn, he merely glared back at the angel, refusing to be cowed.

"No," Cas finally said out loud, turning to Ruth and tucking his blade away. "I have a better idea. I'll take it from here, thank you. You four have done well. The rest of you, continue with your duties."

The group that had brought him in beamed under the praise, while the rest of the angelic horde slowly pried their attention away from the demon and back to whatever they were doing. Crowley glared at Castiel as the angel grabbed his arm and jerked him forward. The grip was too tight for him to pull away, and it wasn't like he could run anyhow, so Crowley decided to go along with things for the moment.

In his experience, the only "better idea" than killing an enemy was long, slow torture—sort of like what he'd planned for Castiel following the incident with Purgatory. Crowley wasn't afraid of being tortured. He was a demon after all. Like all demons, torture was how he'd gotten this way to begin with. But he couldn't say he was relishing the idea, and he'd hoped that unlike him, Castiel was above such things.

The hallway they were walking through had several doors opening on either side. Castiel pushed one open and hauled Crowley inside, propelling him back into a chair in the center of the room. To his surprise, the angel didn't bind him to it, but instead reached up and yanked the duct tape off in one quick move.

"Ow!" Crowley complained. He glared up at the angel standing over him. "Shouldn't you really be more concerned with finding that scribe of yours? Torturing me will take too much time, trust me."

Cas didn't reply, merely eyed him with a cold expression. He wasn't holding the angel blade, but Crowley wasn't stupid enough to think the angel needed it to be deadly.

"I mean, that is the plan, right?" the demon went on. "Relieve some of that stress? I can't say I blame you, what with-"

"Stop talking," Castiel growled. "I'm not interested in torturing you."

"You're… not?" Huh. Crowley couldn't imagine _not_ being interested in torturing an enemy.

"I imagine Lucifer himself couldn't break you for good. Anyway, most of the angels are… short-sighted," Cas went on, taking a step back but maintaining his domineering stance. "They know killing you is the right move, right now. You're evil, a demon. You can't be trusted."

"Don't sugarcoat it, darling. I'm your worst nightmare." Crowley smirked, not about to let his last few moments be spent groveling at the feet of some angel.

Cas merely snorted and crossed his arms. "Hardly. Which is exactly why I'm considering letting you go."

Wait… _what_? Crowley stared at the angel, wondering if Cas had lost his marbles again. He'd _seemed_ sane, up until that moment. Why…?

"Don't get the wrong idea," Castiel warned. "We're not friends."

"No, we're not," agreed the demon. Which was why he wasn't sure what to make of this.

"Like I said, the angels know you're evil. What they don't understand is that Abaddon is far worse, long-term," Cas went on. "Between the two of you, I'd rather have you sitting on the throne. You, I know I can beat if I have to."

Crowley bristled. "I beg your pardon-" He'd just started to get to his feet before Castiel's blade was at his neck, forcing him back down again.

"You disagree?" Cas pointed out, gesturing to the bound demon, stuck in his body, in the middle of Angel Central.

So the feather duster had a point, though it irked Crowley to even think it. Still… gift horse, mouth, he just wanted out of there. Shrugging, he moved to get up once again, but again Cas's blade had him rethinking the maneuver.

"I didn't say you could leave," the angel snapped. "I only said I'm considering it."

"Cas," Crowley purred in return. "I love it when you get all dominant. Makes me go quivery. How can I help persuade you?"

The angel scrutinized him for another moment before finally lowering the blade. "I have two conditions."

Naturally, a deal. Crowley was well-versed in such things. With a confident smirk, the demon nodded. "Name your terms."

"First…" Castiel gestured to the wound in Crowley's abdomen, closed up by now but still visible. "Is this the best you can do, Crowley? Hiding from Abaddon in a _church_?"

"I'll have you know," the demon snapped. "That bitch is tougher than she looks!"

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Crowley. Are you the King of Hell, or not? Is this how the _king_ is supposed to act? I thought you _wanted_ the throne. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Crowley bristled again, fuming silently. He didn't really have a good defense, though. Wordlessly, he glared at the angel until Castiel snorted and added,

"Yes, let me see, how did you put it?" He leaned in, growling, "You're no good to me except that you can fight her. So get… yourself… up."

"Clever boy, aren't you," Crowley snapped back. He _did_ want Abaddon dead, he did want his seat of power. He wanted things back the way they were. Maybe the feather duster was right… maybe it was time to stop running and start fighting. "I don't suppose you have any bright ideas how exactly I'm supposed to do that?"

Castiel shrugged. "Sounds like _your_ problem. You're supposed to be so devious and clever. I'm sure you'll think of something. So, agree to get out there and put a stop to this mess, or I really have no reason to keep you alive anyway."

Very well. He _was_ the savviest and most cunning of the demons. Surely he could take care of _one_ Knight of Hell. Raising his eyebrows, Crowley loftily replied, "Done. And I _keep_ my end, unlike some I know. What's the second condition?"

His expression shifted into a frown as Castiel leaned down, a hand on either arm of the chair so that the two were nearly nose to nose. One side of the angel's mouth pulled up in a rare smirk.

"I want to hear the magic words."

Oh, was _that_ all? Crowley rolled his eyes. "Please," he said readily, holding up his bound hands to be cut loose.

"No, that's not good enough."

Crowley's shrewd glare narrowed on the angel, not sure where this was going. "That _is_ the magic-"

"You would beg for anything if you thought it would get you what you were after," Cas pointed out. Crowley almost thought the angel was enjoying this. "It doesn't mean a thing to you. No, I want to hear you admit that I won."

The demon balked, boggling eyes staring at Cas, trying to determine if he was serious. "You're _joking_."

Castiel didn't move, didn't even twitch. Crowley's horrified mind whirled to process this. "You're not joking?!"

"I believe you said something about re-evaluating whether pride was stronger than self-preservation?"

Ohhhh, he was going to _kill_ this angel. Too well, Crowley remembered saying those very words when Castiel had been _his_ captive instead of the other way around. Should have known it would come back to bite him in the end.

"Well played," Crowley bit out, trying not to show how furious he was, knowing that he was failing. He chewed his tongue for a moment, already shuddering at how the words were going to taste, because of course self-preservation would win out in the end. "Fine. _You win._ "

Castiel smiled. "Good." In one swift motion, he'd leaned back up, slicing down with his blade. The tape was ripped in two, breaking the physical bonds and the magic one.

"Just remember _you_ started this," Crowley grumbled under his breath. Technically he only had himself to blame, but he was in no mood to be generous now.

Prepared to flee before Castiel changed his mind, Crowley nevertheless paused when the angel spoke up one last time.

"Crowley… make sure she dies."

The two regarded each other, a dark understanding passing between them. Then, Crowley gave Castiel a sharp nod, and was gone.


	4. Got 99 Problems and Lucifer is Every One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is an alternate version of the scene in 11x18 where Crowley goes into Cas's vessel to try to convince him to evict Lucifer. Creepy Lucifer... Though I have to admit, I couldn't believe how easy Lucifer was taking it on Cas. I sorta imagined it way worse than that (which ended up being an entire fic, Three Angels Walk Into a Bar). But this is just the one scene that doesn't REALLY have a happy ending, but we all know it works out in the end ^_^ Enjoy!

Castiel propped his chin on his hand, staring vaguely in the direction of the TV but not really paying attention to whatever comedic show was supposedly running. It wasn't real, anyway. Though, he mused, what the TV showed wasn't all that "real" in the actual world, either. So what difference did it make?

The difference was, he ought to be paying closer attention right now, the angel reminded himself with a self-chastising frown. With Lucifer at the helm of his body, Castiel was only getting snippets of information regarding what was happening out there. The Devil was keeping a tight hold of Castiel's consciousness lately, probably afraid he would try to take over again, and the angel was getting frustrated at the lack of visibility. If he was lucky, or if Lucifer got lazy, he might catch a glimpse through the television.

And if he _did_ see something he didn't like?

Castiel slumped back, expression drooping as weariness and defeat settled on his shoulders like a lead weight. It wasn't like he could fight Lucifer. For Castiel, the battle was already over. It was up to his devilish older brother to defeat Amara, the whole reason he'd let Lucifer in, and after that it would fall to the Winchesters to defeat _him_. They'd find a way. They had to.

So fretting was useless; Castiel was done.

And yet, he kept his eyes glued to the television. Only just a moment ago, he would have sworn he'd seen Dean through the electronic screen, but then the image was gone and had yet to reappear to offer any clarity on the matter.

"Castiel?"

Well, this was an unexpected detour from the monotony. Castiel half-glanced at the newcomer, not entirely convinced it wasn't a hallucinatory trick. Though this would be an odd torture indeed if it was Lucifer's doing.

"Oh, Crowley," he murmured. "What are you doing here?" In other words, _are you even real?_

The demon's expression of confusion seemed genuine and lifelike, gazing around the scenery before demanding, "Is this the Winchesters' kitchen?"

Castiel turned back to the TV with a glum nod. "You should go, if you're really you," he advised, though he doubted it was. Why would Crowley ever take it upon himself to possess the Devil? _Could_ Lucifer be possessed? Three entities in one body… well, why not? It had worked on Sam. Castiel sighed; if by some miracle he survived this, his vessel would never be clean again.

There was a short pause, then a suspicious, "What's wrong with you? What's Lucifer done to you?"

Hmm. If Castiel wasn't mistaken, there was a trace of actual concern in the question. Would Lucifer know how to fake that? It was difficult to say for sure. Deciding to play along for now, certain his brother would get bored of the game eventually if this was a masquerade, Castiel shrugged.

"Well, he mostly just leaves me alone," the angel replied, which was mostly true. As long as he behaved, Lucifer didn't seem to care about him one way or another. It was only when he tried to intervene that he ended up on the receiving end of the Devil's wrath.

If Crowley picked up on the word "mostly", he didn't comment. Instead, he gestured towards the exit and snapped, "Do you know what's happening out there? The Winchesters have trapped the abomination so that you can expel him so that they can put him back in the Cage!"

"Well, that doesn't sound like a very good idea." Castiel's pulse quickened, though, hoping this wasn't Lucifer testing him, waiting to see if he would attempt to take control. If that was the case, the angel didn't dare act like he would even consider it.

The shove came without warning, knocking Castiel from his seat onto the kitchen floor. Memories of previous punishments from Lucifer came flooding back, and the angel scrambled backwards to put distance between himself and whoever this was.

"Snap out of it!" Crowley snarled, advancing on the angel. "He's really got his hooks in you. It's like you don't even care about your own darling Winchesters. Get yourself up, Castiel!"

"What-"

"Get up!" the demon repeated, gesturing with a cool glare. "Get off your feathery ass and fight him!"

The angel stared at Crowley, confusion building. This… this couldn't be a part of the façade. This was actually Crowley, using the demon's own words. "You're real," Castiel blurted out. He shook his head. "And… you're serious."

Heaving a sigh that was clearly laden with exasperation, Crowley nodded. "Of course I'm real, you twat!" he snapped. "Now listen. I know you think Lucifer is the only one who can take on Amara, but he _can't_. Believe me, I heard it from his own mouth— _your_ own mouth, as it were—that he tricked you into thinking he could beat her so that you'd let him in."

Castiel's head spun with this horrifying revelation, still gaping at the demon. Mutely, he shook his head.

"Believe me, don't believe me," Crowley snapped, twisting now to cast an anxious look over his shoulder. "But if you don't trust me, trust your boyfriend. Dean's been itching to get Lucifer out of you, and now you've actually got a chance."

The angel swallowed. "That was Dean I saw a minute ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes!"

And yet… Lucifer was so much more powerful than Castiel. They still stood a better chance against the Darkness with the archangel in control, even though every moment was a torment. Didn't they? Even if he tried to expel Lucifer, would he even be able to? Castiel looked away. He couldn't even leave this false Bunker, locked down as tightly as it was.

"You need to go," Castiel murmured, shaking his head. "Run, Crowley."

"What? No! Not until you expel Lucifer. Now, before it's too late!"

"It already is," a cold, cruel voice interrupted from the doorway.

Castiel closed his eyes in dismay, dread trickling down his spine and leaving him paralyzed in the face of his brother's reappearance. His usual stoicism wasn't enough to quash his terror when Lucifer's malice wafted across the artificial room. Beside him, Crowley shouted with pain a half-second before a crash echoed off the bare walls. Castiel opened his eyes in time to see the demon slide down to the floor, only to be tossed aside once again by the wrathful Lucifer.

"Lucifer," Castiel whispered. He wet his lips and tried again as Crowley screamed in pain. "Lucifer, stop."

His brother's only response was to flick a careless hand at Castiel, snapping the angel's face sideways and leaving a red welt along his cheek. Castiel bit back a cry, focusing on the demon who was getting even more vicious treatment.

Picking himself up, Castiel stumbled back to the table and grabbed the TV in both hands. In one rushed motion, he slung the heavy appliance around, bashing Lucifer's head in so that the archangel fell to the floor. Castiel was already on the move, racing to grab Crowley by the shoulder and take off running down the halls of the Bunker.

This was bad. This was very bad. A thrill of fear nearly made Castiel freeze in his tracks, but their only hope now was to hide; the Devil wouldn't stay down for long.

"Left," he ordered sharply as Crowley dashed along beside him, breathing heavily with exertion. The demon wrenched open the door that Castiel indicated. Together, they shifted into a large, walk-in pantry and shut the door.

For a second, the only sound was their gasps, desperate attempts at muting the noise unsuccessful. A furious bellow reverberated through the faux Bunker, heralding Lucifer's recovery. Castiel shuddered, clenching his eyes shut and turning from the door. He was going to pay for this, he knew.

"Great," Crowley muttered from beside him. "That's the last time I stick my neck out for you."

"You're possessing my vessel right now, aren't you?" Castiel whispered back, opening his eyes to shoot the demon a quizzical look. "Just leave. Help Dean and Sam. When this is over, I need you to kill him. Even if it means killing me."

"Believe me, it'll be my pleasure," Crowley hissed with a scowl. "But don't you think if I could 'just leave', I already would have? He's locked me in somehow! I escaped him once… care to consider the odds of it happening again? Not good!"

Part of Castiel wanted to be annoyed with the demon for being so self-centered. As if Castiel had not _also_ been made to suffer at Lucifer's hands. As if so many others hadn't. As if Crowley was the only one to have been personally victimized by the archangel.

On the other hand, it was a credit to Crowley's fortitude that he was still alive at all. Castiel had still been able to watch what was happening, all through the horrific torture sessions Lucifer inflicted on the demon, and the humiliation he'd been subjected to afterwards. That Crowley had remained unbroken was… impressive. But of course he didn't want to go through it again.

Oddly, Castiel didn't want Crowley to suffer that fate a second time, either, though why he should be concerned was a mystery to the angel.

"I tried to stop him." The words came unbidden, unplanned. Castiel frowned, not sure why he'd admitted to that, and even Crowley twisted to raise a questioning brow. "Lucifer," the angel clarified. "When he had you chained up like a dog."

Crowley hissed in displeasure at the reminder, but his face just as quickly scrunched up in confusion. "What?"

"Unsuccessfully," Castiel amended, though it was hardly necessary. An icy touch gripped his heart, remembering the moment Lucifer had finally snapped at him. He shook it off. "And before, when he was torturing you. I told him there were more important things to be focusing on. Once, I tried to take back control."

Only once.

One time too many, as it turned out. That beating wasn't one he would soon forget.

Crowley was still just staring at him, confusion and derision mixing with something else Castiel couldn't identify. "Why?"

The bluntness of the question didn't bother the angel much. He shrugged. "Like I said… I need you to kill him when this is over. Sam and Dean… they might need help." They might hesitate because it was Castiel _._ But one second of hesitation would be enough for Lucifer to escape, and Castiel couldn't have that.

The demon regarded him for another minute, then he shrugged. "And like I said… I'd love to. But first I need to get out of this bloody meatsuit. Don't you have an escape hatch?"

Castiel looked around, snorting. "Lucifer created this space from my memories of it," he pointed out. "Nothing gets out that he doesn't want to. I told you that you shouldn't have come here."

"Well, give that angel a biscuit," Crowley snapped with a glare. "Half a mo, think I've got an idea."

Whatever the demon's plan was, they had both run out of time. Castiel and Crowley jumped as the door smashed in, splintering bits of wood that rained down on them. The doorway framed Lucifer's livid form, his expression set in a cold smirk that sent Castiel back several steps.

"Castiel," the Devil sneered. "Getting scrappy? And here I'd thought I'd whipped that out of you. As for _you_ ," he went on, pointing at Crowley. The demon was sent flying into the wall of the pantry, knocking over a shelf that collapsed on top of him as he crumpled to the floor.

"Lucifer, stop!" Castiel shouted. It did no good.

"Defending the demon again?" the Devil demanded with a snort. There was no mistaking the light of hatred in his eyes. "He's scum, Castiel. Lower than even _humans_ , if you can believe that's possible. And clearly a glutton for punishment."

He raised a hand again; this time, Castiel sidestepped in front of his angry brother and held up a hand, though his heart quaked in fear. "Wait," he pleaded. "Just wait."

To his surprise, Lucifer did pause, eyes shifting between Crowley and Castiel with increasing rage and incredulity. The seconds ticked by, none of them moving, until Lucifer snorted with angry laughter.

"Castiel," he said. "Not even you could have sunk _that_ low." His gaze slid between the two again and he sidled closer. Castiel took a step back, stealing a glance over his shoulder to see Crowley watching from the floor with wide, dismayed eyes.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," Castiel tried, but his brother cut him off.

"Are you making _friends_ with demons now?" Lucifer demanded. "With these disgusting, filthy, mutated wretches?"

"What? No," Castiel protested. The rage in Lucifer's eyes intensified, and the angel gulped. "We're not friends."

"No, we're not," Crowley agreed. "I loathe the bugger. Honest."

"But, he could be useful, that's all," the angel hurried on, hands still spread wide, desperate to convince his brother. "Against Amara. We need him-"

"We really don't."

Lucifer took another step forward, but Castiel only sidestepped again to more fully block the archangel's path. His heart hammered in his chest; resistance was likely to be futile anyway.

The tremor that shook even the sturdy walls of the Bunker took Castiel by surprise and, judging by Lucifer's face, the archangel as well. Castiel thought he heard the echo of Sam and Dean's voices, the familiar Latin words seeming out of place until a quiet pop from behind him made it all fall into place. Of course… clever. An exorcism to remove Crowley from the vessel and return him safely to his own, though now Castiel was left alone with Lucifer once again.

He could see this entire revelation cross his brother's face in stages. First, surprise as Crowley disappeared. Then, dawning rage as he realized the demon had escaped his grasp. And finally, as Lucifer's eyes trailed back to regard Castiel, cool iciness that frightened the angel more than his brother's anger, because it made him all the more unpredictable.

"So," the Devil murmured, advancing on Castiel as the angel backed up until he ran up against the closet wall. Lucifer reached out and took him by the lapels, moving slowly but with unbreakable force. His fists clenched in the material and Castiel swallowed.

"Lucifer-" he started, but cut off as his brother shook his head.

"Shh," Lucifer shushed. "Shh… Castiel. Little brother. I'm disappointed."

"Lucifer, please-"

"Ah, ah." They were inches apart now, close enough for Castiel to see his own pale face reflected in Lucifer's ice cold eyes. "You're becoming a problem, Castiel."

The angel shook his head, mute with trepidation, hoping his brother just left him alone again. Surely whatever was happening out there would be requiring his more immediate attention? If Sam and Dean had him trapped…

But he knew it was just as likely that the archangel had frozen everything happening out there, buying time in their head to make sure Castiel was punished for letting Crowley escape. There was no chance that Castiel was getting out of this now.

If Crowley could help the Winchesters, though, then Castiel regretted nothing. If the demon helped put an end to both Amara and Lucifer—and he certainly seemed motivated to—then it didn't matter what happened to Castiel.

Lucifer was still regarding him, but smiled now with wolfish intent as he asked, "I wonder, does this Bunker happen to have a dungeon?"

Castiel swallowed, looking away. Lucifer had already pored through the angel's knowledge of the place, easily smashing through any walls Castiel had tried to construct to protect the information. He knew very well that there was, so lying would only make things worse now.

"…Yes," he admitted through gritted teeth.

The angel flinched when Lucifer raised a hand, but it was only to give him a condescending pat on the cheek.

"Good boy," Lucifer murmured. He jerked Castiel away from the wall, one fist still gripping the angel's coat. "Let's go."

 _Sam… Dean… I'm sorry,_ Castiel thought as his brother shoved him out into the Bunker's halls, heading for the dungeon. He doubted he would ever be leaving it again.

_Crowley… don't let me down._


	5. Would've Been Easier if He'd Just Called...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set after season 11, when Lucifer is just sorta missing-but-out-there-somewhere. I actually started getting glimpses of this after reading Aini Nufire's fic Hellhound Games, which made me want to write Juliet into a chapter somewhere! This seemed to fit the bill ^_^

It was good to be king.

Crowley sat back in his throne, cunning eyes gazing out over the humbly averted faces of his gathering. Or, so he liked to think. In reality, the demon knew his reign was hanging on by a thread—and a delicate one, at that. Amara was gone, and so was Lucifer, but the memory of his humiliating time as the Devil's plaything was still all too sharp. For him, as well as his court.

There were many, he knew, who were still hoping that Lucifer would return to reclaim the role of king. Still others were probably considering the position for themselves. At the moment, Crowley doubted it would take much of a push for a challenger to step forward. He needed to cement his position, _now_ , but the demon had no ideas at the moment. Something to remind them all of his strength, his power. Something to make them fear him again.

If he didn't do so, and soon, Crowley was liable to end up with a knife in his back.

A commotion from out in the hall brought the demon out of his musings, sitting up straighter in the ornate chair and frowning at the closed doors. The demon court shifted at the sound, some with unease and some with anticipation. A coup in the making, perhaps? Crowley's eyes narrowed. He was prepared.

When the heavy doors blew open with a crash, though, Crowley had to do a double-take. A host of demons trampled in, but they weren't rushing for the attack; they were dragging another figure in with them. A figure in a tan trench coat.

"Bloody hell," Crowley murmured under his breath, barely able to hide his shock as he watched the demons force Castiel forward into the center of the room. The angel scowled with obvious displeasure, trying to fight off the hands that held him. His wrists had been pulled behind his back and trapped in the sigiled cuffs that Crowley had prepared for someone else entirely.

The king counted seven demons: two had latched onto Castiel's arms to manhandle him along, a third stood behind him with one hand clenched in the angel's hair to force his head back, stolen angel blade pressing against Cas's throat. Which left four to look smug and act like they had helped.

Pasting an unimpressed expression on his face, Crowley propped his chin up on one hand and leaned against the arm of the throne.

"Care to explain?" he asked, gesturing with his free hand at the captured angel.

One of the demons who wasn't contributing in the slightest stepped forwards, looking proud of himself. The three who were actually holding Cas also thrust him a few inches closer to the throne despite his attempt to dig his heels in.

"Caught him snooping around by the Front Door," the empty-handed demon explained. "One of the traps got him."

Well, that was just perfect. The traps hadn't been intended for Cas. Crowley bit back a sigh, appraising the silent angel. Castiel was glaring at him with murderous intent—bold, for an angel captured _in Hell_ and brought before the king himself. And just what was the idiot doing in Hell in the first place? Damn it, how was he supposed to get Cas out of there now without losing face with the court? Did the angel have _no_ consideration for the trouble his presence brought Crowley?

Besides, Castiel was universally hated and feared by the demons; this rabble was going to want blood, and if Crowley didn't provide, that would be just the excuse for some ambitious upstart to try and take the throne. Even now, Crowley could see the calculating stares; they were waiting to see what he would do.

But maybe there was a way to turn this to his advantage and still get the angel out of there in one piece—after all, what good would Cas be to Crowley if he was dead?

Crowley's bored expression slowly shifted to a shrewd smirk, eyeing Castiel more critically now. "So," he drawled. "I've caught me an angel." Snapping his fingers, the king commanded, "Juliet… _fetch_."

A hushed, excited silence fell over the court as a massive Hellhound appeared from behind the throne. Even Cas's eyes widened, trying to shake off the restraining hands that held him in place, as a low growl rumbled through the stone chamber. It grew to a snarl, and the beast bounded straight towards the angel. The demons holding him scrambled back to give the Hellhound a wide berth, but there was nowhere for Castiel to run.

Cheers rose as Juliet tackled the angel to the ground, his bound hands not allowing him to catch himself or fight her off. Cas still attempted to kick her out of the way, ever the fighter, but he was at a severe disadvantage. When he rolled over to try clambering his way to his feet, it merely gave Juliet an unobstructed go at his back.

Powerful jaws snapped, teeth flashing in the dim light; she had found her mark.

"No!" Cas growled, breaking his silence for the first time. It was too late. The Hellhound had latched onto the trench coat, holding him by the scruff like a recalcitrant pup. She growled around the material and started to drag the angel forward. Metal clinked as Cas pulled at the manacles, trying to free his hands and get his feet under him. He managed to do neither, obliged to let the Hellhound haul him unceremoniously across the floor to Crowley's feet and hold him there.

"Good girl," the demon praised, standing up. Juliet's long, thick tail wagged once, dark fur standing on end as she clutched her natural enemy in an unyielding grip.

With a low, threatening rumble, the Hellhound pulled Castiel up enough for him to slump back on his knees, but didn't let go. Crowley moved forward to stand over the captured angel with a triumphant smirk.

"And not just any angel… the infamous Castiel." The demon tsk-ed and shook his head. "Caught snooping like some common thief. Castiel, how the mighty have fallen." He held out his hand towards the gang who had brought Cas in, smile widening when his minion handed over the blade they'd stolen. The king held the silver weapon up, twisting it this way and that to catch the light. "You really… _really_ … shouldn't have come here."

The demons lining the chamber traded excited looks, nudging each other in obvious delight at what promised to be a good show. Castiel ignored this, his glare not losing an ounce of ferocity as he snapped, "Then kill me and be done with it."

For hell's sake. Crowley fought not to roll his eyes. Sometimes, Cas was even denser than the moronic demons who served him. Leaning over, Crowley grabbed a fistful of tan trench coat and pressed the blade against Cas's throat, snapping,

"You'll show proper respect, _angel_." He leaned in, voice dropping to an urgent whisper that only Cas would hear. "Damn it, play along if you want me to get you out of here."

Castiel twisted to squint at the King of Hell in suspicion. Crowley glared, trying to convey with nothing but a look that the angel would just have to trust him. Ordinarily, of course, that would be a terrible idea, but Cas was no good to him dead. So here he was, saving the angel's neck _again_.

Juliet growled around the coat in her mouth, hot breath chuffing against the back of Castiel's neck. Crowley could see the cogs working in the angel's mind, knew he was coming to the realization that trusting Crowley was his only choice. The demon allowed himself a small smirk of victory at the knowledge. Cas's mouth tightened, but his head dipped in an almost imperceptible nod.

"This might sting," Crowley muttered, before lowering the blade to Castiel's chest and scoring a quick slice. It was barely enough to break the skin, but it allowed a hint of glowing blue to shine out in the dark room.

Cas released a strangled shout, more surprise than pain, but the demons wouldn't know the difference. Excitement mounted in the room, the sight of the angel's blood dripping off the sharpened edge of the blade almost enough to start a frenzy. Crowley straightened.

"Why kill you so fast and be done with it?" he demanded for the audience's benefit. "No, no. Not until you've suffered. Not as satisfying as Lucifer, I must admit, but I'll just use my imagination and pretend you're still _him_ … as I cut you apart… one… piece… at a time."

Cas stole a quick look around before clearing his throat and muttering loudly, "No demon should be strong enough to defeat an angel."

Hmm. A little on the nose, but the demons were too stirred up to notice. Smirking, Crowley pointed the bloody blade at the captive.

"Yes, but I'm the _king."_ He turned and motioned for the original group to step forward again. "You lot, take him to the warded cells and lock him up. I'll be down in a minute to have some fun."

Juliet released the angel with another low snarl, then slunk back behind the throne once more. Crowley met Cas's eyes for a few short seconds as the demons surged forward to grab him, and then they were gone.

The bloodied angel blade was still in Crowley's hand. He held it aloft as evidence of his power, turning back to his court, and his expression shifted from triumphant to grim. "Never forget," he growled, deadly serious. "If you think what I do to the angel is torture… it's nothing compared to what I'll do to anyone who betrays me."

He gazed from one face to the next, capturing the eyes of every demon in turn. It did the trick. There were precious few demons who could say they'd drawn blood from an angel. The ambitious would think twice before trying to stand against him, for the moment at least. When Crowley was satisfied that all were appropriately humbled, he teleported out of sight towards the cells.

When the demon reappeared in the warded prison, Cas was sitting on the floor with his back against the far wall where he'd probably been shoved down, still bleeding, still annoyed. He scowled up at Crowley and grumbled,

"I suspect you enjoyed that."

"A bit," Crowley agreed, before raising one shoulder in a shrug. "A lot, actually. In fact, I might not let you go after all." He gestured with the stolen blade, smirking as he looked the chained angel up and down. "I rather like you like this. Just imagine all the juicy possibilities."

Castiel only rolled his eyes, a move he must have picked up from the Winchesters somewhere along the line. Crowley shook his head, eyebrows raised.

"No? Well, if you're sure. I still need to hear the magic words if you want the cuffs to come off."

If looks could kill, Crowley thought with amusement, he would be dead. The angel's jaw worked for a second before he finally growled, "…Please."

Crowley's smirk widened. "No, darling, the _other_ magic words."

Castiel heaved a sigh, looking away with an irate expression. Crowley almost wondered if the angel would refuse, but he could wait until the end of time to hear the words.

"Fine," Castiel ground out after a moment. "You win. _This_ time. Are you happy?"

"Immensely. What are you doing here, anyway?" Crowley asked, fishing through his inner pocket for the key to the warded manacles. Cas got to his feet and turned around so Crowley could free his hands. The chains fell to the floor with a clank, while Cas replied,

"Looking for Lucifer. I assume the trap was set for him."

"Yes, and now I have to reset it. _And_ I'm going to have to put a demon in charge of guarding this cell on pain of execution, and then I'm going to have to execute him when it turns out you've escaped. So thanks for nothing."

Castiel snorted. "Am I supposed to be apologetic?"

"You're supposed to be _careful_ , you numpty! Couldn't have just _called_ about Lucifer, could you? All of this could have been avoided!"

The cut he had made on Castiel's chest was completely gone now, as the angel extended a hand for the blade. Crowley glowered, holding the weapon up but not returning it. Really, it would save him so much trouble in the end to just kill the bloody angel. Except, Crowley had enough to worry about with his own court to feel like facing the shit-storm it would bring down on him from Moose and Squirrel. His messy and torturous demise at their hands would just be inconvenient at the moment, that was the only reason he was letting the angel go.

"Now," Cas snapped.

Crowley huffed and relinquished the sword with a touch of disappointment. "Don't get your feathers in a twist. Here."

With a nod, Castiel accepted the blade back and stowed it away in his coat. "Incidentally," the angel said. "You should know the demons who caught me were plotting behind your back. You may want them to be the ones assigned to guard this cell so you can dispose of them without arousing suspicion."

Hmm. Crowley raised an eyebrow, musing on that. It figured. "Can't trust anyone these days," he complained. "It pays to have loyal friends."

Castiel stared at him as Crowley grabbed the angel's arm in preparation to transport them both out of the sigiled cell and back to Earth. The king of Hell paused and returned the sideways look. "Oh, not you," he clarified. "We're not friends."

"No, we're not," Cas agreed.

"By the way, if you would do me the tiny favor of spreading the word about how you barely escaped with your life thanks to the idiocy of some low-level demon, and how King Crowley mercilessly tortured you with his superior power, I'd be much obliged."

"What superior power?" Castiel asked with a snort. "No one would believe that, and I'm not a very good liar."

"It's not a lie! I _do_ have superior power!"

"Compared to what? A cupid?"

"Now listen here, you feathered birdbrain-"

A silent pop, and both angel and demon disappeared back to the surface, still arguing through the entire journey.


	6. An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final scene is pure fluff ^_^ It's a missing scene between 12x9 and 12x10, so right before the Lily Sunder episode... Dean and Sam have been rescued but Dean is still not talking to Cas.

Castiel's quick gaze slid around the bar, singling out his quarry without undue effort. Crowley was a master of blending in—when he tried, which he often didn't—but years of keeping a wary eye out for demons had made Castiel better at spotting one even without the full strength of his grace to warn him.

The demon's back was turned. Face grim, Castiel strode forward, already reaching into his pocket as he went.

"Hello, kitten." Crowley angled a smirk over his shoulder, dark eyes watching Castiel as the angel took the bar stool beside him.

Finally finding his cell phone in the depths of his trench coat, Castiel turned it off and then stuffed it away again with a sigh. "I don't know why you call me that," he grumbled. "I in no way resemble a young feline."

"You can say that again," Crowley agreed. He snorted, then turned his attention to the barkeeper to signal him over.

"Um," Castiel murmured, looking at the stacked row of liquor bottles helplessly. Alcohol was hardly a subject he knew much about, and the human he learned from the most normally stuck to beer or whiskey. Without Dean there to educate him—and it was looking like Dean wouldn't be educating him on anything beyond how to deliver a "cold shoulder" for a while—Castiel wasn't sure what he was supposed to order. Not that it would affect him much, anyway.

With another snort, Crowley rolled his eyes and informed the bartender, "He wants an Angel's Fall."

Castiel glared as the bartender nodded and turned to the row of bottles. "Hilarious," he muttered under his breath, to which Crowley only grinned all the wider.

"Just trust me," the demon said. "You'll like it. So. Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam. Back in the saddle again, eh? I did tell you, did I not, that they would come out on top, just like they always do, with a trail of bodies in their wake?"

"You're misinformed," Castiel retorted. "They didn't need to kill a single human in their escape." Other than themselves. Briefly. Oh, what a sore point of contention it all still was…

Crowley just raised his eyebrows. Then he shrugged and turned back to his own drink, some peach-colored concoction with an umbrella sticking out of the glass. "Mm-hmm. Anyhow… for an angel who's just had his two besties returned to him… you're remarkably even more dour than normal. And that's saying something for you, mate."

Castiel felt his expression harden, nodding to the bartender when a glass was set before him. The angel took a cautious sip and immediately blanched at the burn of the alcohol.

"Good, isn't it?" Crowley asked, all neutrality and casual aloofness. "I do love an Angel's Fall."

"I think you just enjoy saying the words," Castiel grumbled. He took another sip, braced this time. The second was better.

"You haven't answered the question, though," the demon pointed out. "What's got your feathers all twisted up?"

"My feathers are _not_ twisted up."

"Oh… trouble in paradise, darling?" Crowley asked, tilting his head in Castiel's direction with half a smile.

The angel looked away, hand clenching on the small glass of liquor. Dean Winchester. Couldn't even let someone save him without throwing a fuss. He'd tried to fight free when Castiel was pulling him out of Hell, too, lashing out with fear and rage and agony. That had been different, of course. For one thing, it had been _understandable_ , whereas this was just… stupid.

Crowley heaved a sigh, heavy with exaggerated exasperation when Castiel didn't immediately answer. "What are we doing here if you can't open up to your arch-enemy about it?" he demanded. "Castiel. Let's be real: if there's _anyone_ who knows the Winchester playbook by heart, it's me. I'll just fill in the blanks myself, shall I? I can only guess our intrepid boys escaped via some sort of arrangement made in desperation."

Castiel turned back to the demon, but Crowley just held up his hand to preempt any interruption.

"And," he went blithely on, "Said arrangement was going to require a price, one which probably endangered at least one of them. The other wouldn't be thrilled about this, of course. And yet _both_ the boys neglected to actually communicate what was happening until it was almost too late, which left one of them to be all noble and sacrificial."

"There was nothing _noble_ about _-_ "

"Except the angel up their sleeve found out about it," Crowley concluded, sitting back with a smirk and swirling his drink. "And, being their angel, took matters into his own hands. Successfully, if their glorious return to the living is any indication. But here's the thing… the angel is really just another Winchester, albeit far older and… fluffier."

"I beg your pardon-"

"Which means he's using the same playbook," Crowley spoke over him. "Ipso facto… another sacrifice play. Oh, I bet Squirrel's fit to be tied, isn't he?" The demon smirked and gestured between the two of them. "Which is why we're here drinking like old friends."

Castiel stared at the demon, suspicion and confusion at war within him. How could Crowley have possibly worked all of that out just from- oh… wait. The angel snorted and shook his head. "You already heard about Billie."

"Alright, so I already knew the story," Crowley admitted with a shrug as Castiel took another draught. "I have excellent sources. What I don't know is what the consequences actually are from this. I'm a businessman, Castiel-"

"So you frequently tell me."

"-and as near as I can see it, this is just an example of an obvious loophole that you were fortunate enough to exploit. Billie was a lovely girl but honestly… making a pact with _Winchesters_ , without drawing up a binding contract first? So many clauses and sub-clauses that she should have added in there. Now, had it been _me_ , I would have specified that the deal couldn't be broken upon my death by a third party. She, rest her non-existent soul, did not. Ergo, it's a no-fault and the deal is null. You should be in the clear."

Castiel sighed, raising one shoulder and then letting it fall again. "Tell that to Dean," he muttered.

"Hasn't even mustered up a 'thank you', I take it."

"Thank you?" the angel echoed. He snorted with unamused laughter. "He won't even give me the time of day. Besides, 'thank you' isn't exactly in his repertoire."

As soon as he'd said it, Castiel's heart thudded with guilt for complaining about his best friend behind his back. To a demon, no less. Even still, the fervent nod from Crowley added a level of validation that the angel found oddly comforting.

"You're right about that, mate," the demon grumbled. "All the things I've done for those two over the years, you think I ever got one ounce of gratitude?"

"You did also kill or try to kill several of their friends," Castiel pointed out, to be fair.

Even Crowley couldn't refute that, so he nodded musingly. "True," he agreed. "I'm just saying. Besides, they still see me as an enemy-"

"You _are_ an enemy. You keep forgetting that."

"-but you on the other hand?" Crowley continued, apparently opting to ignore the interlude. "You're their friend. You're their _best_ friend, and I've seen first-hand how much you've given up for those two. And still, no respect."

Castiel bit his tongue; the bartender had stepped back over to them, cutting off his opportunity to reply.

"Another?" the man asked.

The angel and the demon both tossed back the last of their drinks, setting the glasses down and nodding in unison.

"Keep them coming, my good man," Crowley said.

Neither spoke as the bartender mixed both of the drinks. They waited until he'd set the second round down in front of them and then disappeared to the other end of the bar. Castiel picked up his glass, swirling the contents with a ruminative sigh.

"He won't even talk to me," he murmured, slumping in the bar stool. "He won't really even _look_ at me. I'm not sorry for saving his life. It was a stupid deal to make. I'd do the exact same thing again, in a heartbeat. I did the _right thing_."

"Cheers," Crowley replied, raising his glass and pushing the frilly umbrella aside so he could drink. Smacking his lips, the demon set the glass back down again and twisted towards Castiel. "So if you already _know_ it was the right call, which is a step up from your usual hopeless blubbering over whether you're really doing the right thing or not, then what's the problem?"

Castiel shifted with righteous indignation, but couldn't actually make a good case for why the demon was wrong about him. "I just said," he finally snapped. "Dean's still-"

"Acting like a teenaged drama queen, yes," Crowley finished for him with a smirk. "Because that's what he _does_. What's _your_ excuse?"

"What-"

"Quit moping around like you've lost a lover, or people are going to think you actually did," Crowley said. "Dean's a child. Are you going to sit there and take it? Look, it's quite simple: next time he makes a comment, tell him where he can shove it. You were in the right and you know it. For hell's sake, Dean will come around. He always does. Trust me… he's sickeningly loyal to you. Dean Winchester will get over it."

Castiel fell silent, frowning a bit. Although he was hurt by his friend's coldness, it _did_ annoy him as well. Perhaps Crowley was right. Perhaps instead of taking it in silence and letting himself sink deeper and deeper into the depression that had plagued him since the boys went missing, he _should_ fire back at Dean.

Maybe it would even encourage the hunter to, as the humans often said, pull his head out of his ass.

"I think," he started, hardly daring to voice the hope out loud, "perhaps he's just… concerned about the consequences."

Crowley waved him off. "Like I said, seems air-tight to me," he offered. "And I would make your case to any all-powerful being that tried to make trouble over it."

Not sure he'd just heard right, the angel turned and asked, "You… would? Really?"

From Crowley's expression, Castiel assumed the question was as crazy as it had sounded.

"Of course not really. I believe in self-preservation."

"Which is why you fought against Lucifer with me," Castiel couldn't help but dryly point out.

To this, Crowley only snorted. "Again… self-preservation. Besides, he made it personal. Hell is safer with him out of the way, in any case."

Castiel nodded. "Is it finally coming under some semblance of control?" After all, demons running around rampant without an actual leader was a far worse idea than Crowley being in charge.

"Don't tell me you care. I'm flattered."

"I don't."

The two took another drink, slower, silent, contemplative. After a moment, Crowley grumbled,

"Demons are the worst."

"That's true."

"You try and show them so many better ways of doing things, and what do you get for it? Disrespect. They're _utterly_ incapable of learning anything new."

The angel shook his head, knowing _exactly_ how frustrating such a thing could be. "You want to just _make_ them see, but they refuse. And how can they possibly not understand even the simplest ideas?"

"Yes, exactly! And it's bad enough that I've got to win so many of them _back_ over, after everything with Lucifer."

There was a dark fury in his tone, a bitterness that Castiel doubted would ever go away. He was sure that his older brother had made Crowley's humiliation so public for exactly this reason, an extra layer of lingering torture to someone whose image was so vital to their ability to command. Frowning, Castiel said,

"It's hard to get much done when your own people think you're…" What? A monster? A traitor?

"Yes, well, the angels have always been a bit thick," Crowley offered, shrugging. "No offense. At least you were able to win back a bit of reputation before."

"Reputations are fragile," Castiel countered. "Built or broken by a single incidence. Consistency of character, on the other hand, _that_ will leave a more lasting impression. I commanded a flight, for a little while at least. They followed me even to the gates of Hell because they trusted me, because of millennia of what I hope was integrity."

"You're suggesting I lead my demons to the gates of Heaven?" Crowley asked with a snort.

Castiel shot him a look. "Only if you want them all obliterated. I'm saying-"

"I know what you're saying." The demon sighed. "I just wish there was a faster way of winning them over."

Not sure why he was bothering with the effort of reassuring a demon, of all things, Castiel shrugged. "They'll come around."

"As will Dean. And Moose, though I daresay he already has."

The angel nodded. Sam, at least, wasn't ignoring him, though Castiel could see how awkward it was for the younger hunter to be stuck between him and Dean. To that end, the angel had more or less started avoiding both of them. Which was how he'd ended up here tonight in the first place.

Maybe he'd go back and try to talk with Sam alone, to at least start repairing what he could, and to make sure once again that the boys were truly alright after what must have been a horrific experience.

Maybe tomorrow. Meanwhile, Castiel was nursing his drink, while Crowley was nearly ready for another.

"Keep up," the demon said, seeming to notice this as well. "Don't tell me an angel can't outdrink a demon." He raised his glass. "Here's to… friends."

"We're not friends," Castiel reminded him, also lifting his cup.

Crowley's mouth twitched, faraway and almost reminiscent. "No," he agreed. "We're not."

Their glasses clinked.

Together, they drank.


End file.
